


BBCSH Untitled Mystrade Drabble

by tigersilver



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Romance, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 18:00:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigersilver/pseuds/tigersilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In an alley, G and M. </p>
            </blockquote>





	BBCSH Untitled Mystrade Drabble

Author: tigersilver  
Pairing: Mystrade  
Rating: G  
WC: Very short!   
Summary: In an alley, G and M. 

BBCSH Mystrade Untitled

  
  


“G.”  
  
Mycroft is beaky nosed chap, and he delights in poking it into Greg’s business, generally. But it’s not his job on point at the moment, it’s Greg’s hair. The very short tendrils right by his ear, specifically, which are immensely sensitive, even ticklish, and Mycroft knows that too. “G…”

“Arse,” Greg murmurs, but he doesn’t flinch away. “M, you’re an arse.”

“I know.”

It’s a sighing agreement, and fairly honest as far as Holmes’s go. Greg closes his tired eyes and gently accepts it, just as he’s accepting the man’s embrace in a filthy alleyway, a step away from his most current job. It’s tedious, clearly a domestic gone awry, so no Sherlock necessary, but Mycroft has come, for whatever reason, and discreetly nudged Greg aside and out of the swim of busy officers.

“It’s been over twenty four hours, though, you’ve been on your feet. I think I’ve the right to check up on you, G.”

“You really can’t be here,” Greg protests, yes, but he still makes no move to duck away from that nose, as under that nose are two lips, and they are soft against the skin of his temple, his stubbly jaw, his throat. “You…should go.”

Engulfed in a great coat that smells of Mycroft and money, and the ineffable odour of home, Lestrade makes no move whatsoever to shift at all. No…well, he tucks his face against the man’s shoulder a little more securely and tightens his doubled grip against a long, elegantly muscled back.

“In a moment, yes.”

It’ll do. It’s enough that Mycroft’s assistant has somehow arranged for Greg and his team to be delivered a meal of sorts, and tea, piping hot, hours earlier. If he weren’t kicked to the curb with simple sleep deprivation, he’d be in fine fettle. Good to go for hours more. But it’ll do, this.

“M, love,” Greg mouths against love-scented wool weave and the cashmere scarf he knows so well, and his voice is gravelly from the accumulated hours, and probably barely audible. “M, I’ll see you at home, soon, I swear. Go. You shouldn’t be here.”

“Mmm.”

It’s enough, knowing that Mycroft Holmes shan’t be driven off till he’s full well ready to allow it. And he’s clearly not, and no one’s yet come frantically searching for the DI in charge, so, yeah.

It’s enough, oh god, yes it is.  

  
  



End file.
